Better Days
by JimdeGriz
Summary: Date: 3076 Planet: Caselton Situation: Critical As the Marksan Army disintegrates under WOB attack the Logandale Irregulars find themselves cut off and under heavy attack. With no support, no back up and no plan they are forced to rely upon their wits and courage to escape certain destruction at the hands of a superior enemy force.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

12th January 3076

Planet: Caselton

Federated Suns

Major Paul Evington took a shallow breath, then exhaled slowly as he let his crosshairs float over a WOB Enforcer and fired. Twin bolts of man-made lightning leapt across the divide slagging armour on his opponent's chest. Sgt Major Shaffer brought his Stalker up alongside Paul's Devastator and add the fire of his large lasers, scoring more hits on the already damaged enemy. Paul allowed himself a slight smile of satisfaction as the lighter mech's pilot thought better of continuing the confrontation and fell back into cover.

A quick glance up and down the line showed that the situation was temporarily stabilising, Paul's two heavy lances fell back slowly, laying down covering fire as they did so, while his strike lance floated on his left flank adding their fire when needed. He felt pride in their disciplined and orderly retreat, the Logandale Irregulars were a militia outfit, but Paul was a long service veteran of AFFC and he had successful ingrained the discipline of the regular military into the heavy company. But that discipline was being sorely tested, Paul estimated at least two companies of WOB mercenaries opposed his single company and it was only a matter of time until the enemy could bring those numbers to bare effectively.

"Not looking good is it Sir." Sgt Major Shaffer used a laser link to privately communicate, the cheerful tone in his voice totally at odds with the gravity of the situation.

"Seen better days." Paul responded as he lined up his next shot. Tactically the situation was poor, his company was outnumbered and on the back foot, the medium company was scattered in a meaningless skirmish a good 5km off to his left, while his accompanying infantry had been badly cut up in the initial engagement and were regrouping somewhere to his rear. Just to top it off the Brigade Commander was missing in action, leaving him in overall command. Strategically it was actually worse, all contact had been lost with the Marksan Army HQ when the attack began and Paul had no idea what was going on with the rest of the army except that the explosions to his right suggested someone at least was still fighting. It also meant they were cut off, retreating in the wrong direction, with no plan beyond making it through the next half an hour.

"We've made it through worse though."

That was true Paul reflected, the Irregular Brigade had a well deserved reputation for getting into, and then back out of, tight spots. Paul himself had certainly seen worse, today was bad, but very little compared to watching the blinding flashes and the rising mushroom clouds over Axton.

Sudden movement on his radar screen caught his attention, breaking his train of thoughts.

"Harry Actual to Harry Bravo Leader watch your right flank." He calmly transmitted a warning across the radio as a fresh lance of medium mechs emerged from a wood line on the far right of the field, manoeuvring to flank Lt Cooper's lance. Embolden by the appearance of reinforcements the lance of WOB mechs that had been engaging Lt Cooper's lance from the front pushed forwards putting them under further pressure,

Paul switched his fire to the lead mech, a Crusader, even as he did so he keyed his mike again. "This is Harry Actual to Harry Charlie Leader, switch flanks."

"Roger" Lt Tzu's response was instant, the only other regular officer in the company his strike lance was already moving to the aid of Lt Cooper's embattled lance. Even so that barely evened up the odds, Paul grimaced as he brought his Gauss Rifles back online, he was short on ammo and had been hoping to save what was left for a little longer. Carefully he picked his moment, waiting for the Crusader to reach optimum range before opening fire. The two PPC blasts struck the oncoming mech first before the two supersonic metal slugs smashed into its chest. For a moment it looked like the enemy mechwarrior might keep his balance when a flight of LRMs crashed into his right leg. Sgt Major Shaffer had served with Paul for two years now, he didn't need the importance of focus fire explained to him. The ground shook as the 65ton bulk of the Crusader came crashing down, not out of action, but it was enough of a shock to slow the forward rush of his lance mates. Tzu's mechs were now in action alongside Coopers, but the enemy was dangerous close and the attrition was beginning to take its toll. Sgt Hyde's Rifleman was already making for the rear, too badly damaged to continue the fight even if she had any ammunition left to fight with, when a blinding explosion rocked the company. When the smoke cleared Sgt Patel's Cataphract was a smoking wreck, victim of a catastrophic ammunition explosion.

"Chute seen." Paul wasn't sure who made the shout, he was too busy repositioning to cover the gap in the line opened up by the two missing mechs; while he was relieved that Jonathon had escaped the inferno, he was acutely aware that his mechs were running critically low on ammunition. He fired another volley into the Crusader, taking its leg off and sending it crashing to the ground for a second time. However, the return fire was becoming increasingly accurate as the range shrank, one of Tzu's mechs was forced out of the line, smoke billowing from the Clint's ruined right arm. The Irregulars needed a break and soon. Continuing to fall back Paul glanced behind him and with a smile realised they were about to get it. A wood line lay just 200m to their rear and his sensors were picking up a series of ultraviolet flares. The enemy might not realise the significance but the Logandaler's did, the flares marked safe lanes between infantry positions. The infantry of the Black Dogs had got their heavy guns into position and were preparing to give the enemy the good news.

"All Harry callsigns, fade and counter." Paul ordered as he manoeuvred his mech into the woods. The remaining mechs of the heavy company followed suit, temporarily fading from their enemy's sight. They formed a line on Paul's mech, a quick glance up and down that line showed serious damage to their armour plating. A strange calm covered the field for a moment as weapons fire halted, neither side able to see the other well enough to engage. "Steady troops, steady" Sgt Major Shaffer spoke quietly and reassuringly over the radio. Paul counted the seconds in his head, willing the enemy to push on heedlessly, to over commit to the kill, when suddenly the woods lit up as the Black Dogs opened fire with their heavy lasers. The infantry had waited until the enemy mechs was all but on top of them and the suddenly onslaught threw the enemy advance into confusion.

"On me!" Paul ordered as he started his Devastator forward, bringing it into the firing line. An enemy Marauder had stopped just in front of the Black Dog's line, surprised its pilot was trying to locate the well-hidden gun positions to return fire as Paul's mech all but ran into it. Flicking off the safeties he alpha striked, medium lasers, PPC fire and Gauss Slugs tore into the flat footed Marauder. It tried to fall back to its left but ran straight into Shaffer's Stalker which finished the job with a series of laser blasts and a flight of SRM. The Marauder slumped back, its fusion engine ruined. Up and down the line the same story played out, caught on the wrong foot the attacker's momentum had been shattered and their forces thrown back in disarray, their mechs, retreating as quickly as they could. Paul breathed a sigh of relief as he maneuverer his mech back into the woods breaking line of sight. The enemy was far from defeated but this set back would cause them to hesitate, which would buy the Irregulars time to regroup and crucially buy him time to figure out how they were going to get out of this mess.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Despite the effect of the cooling vest, sweat ran down the brow of Captain Mark Warrington as he pushed his Enfield to the limit trying to match the manoeuvres of the WOB Phoenix Hawk opposing him. At 22 he was less than half the age of his fellow company commander and keenly felt the pressure of the heightened expectations that brought with it. Accepting a large laser blast he responded in kind. His own laser fire went high, but the autocannon burst struck true, smashing armour on his opponent's right arm. Mark knew he needed to finish this fight quickly, his company was scattered over a 4 square km area and while he was duelling this Phoenix Hawk he couldn't spare enough mental capacity to regroup them. Switching direction suddenly, he threw off his opponents aim the incoming laser fire passing harmlessly to his right. Mark returned fire scoring hits across the Phoenix Hawk's chest.

The day hadn't started well and didn't look to be getting much better. When the WOB attack had started Mark's medium company had lead the Irregular Brigade's counter attack following the established plan for just such an event. But their attack had gone in unsupported, with no sign of the neighbouring formations that should have been counter attacking alongside them. Mark's mechs had been badly cut up before Paul's heavies had been able to relieve them, with two destroyed and a further three rendered unable to continue the fight. Just to add insult to injury this light company had set upon them as Mark had been trying to rally his troops. The resulting battle had dragged them further and further away from the heavies and scattered his mechs even further. While they were slowly winning the engagement, they were effectively removed from the main battle and unable to affect its outcome.

"Mike Alpha Actual, this is Harry Actual. Report situation."

Because I need another distraction, though Mark.

"Engaging enemy light demi company." Mark paused as he engaged his jump jets, clearing a small hill, firing as he went. "Outlook positive."

"Good to hear, I need you to redeploy to my right flank and regain contact with the rest of the army."

"Wait out." Mark considered the order, it made sense, it would work, if he could get his men in order quickly enough. "Will do, give me ten."

"Roger, out."

Mark's Enfield was rocked by another laser strike, he brought his weapons up to respond, but not quick enough as the Phoenix Hawk ducked behind a wood block, the trees exploding as Mark's laser and autocannon fire slashed through them.

"Steven I'm going to drag this bastard in front of you, finish him for me." Mark radioed his wingman as he broke off to his left towards Steven's Enforcer III firing as he went. As he did so he tried to order his thoughts. First problem, regrouping. Easier said than done, his mechwarriors were each engaged in their own personal duels and while they had loosely stuck to their wing pairs, any real sense of order had long ago broken down, which had frustrated all his efforts to direct the engagement so far. Another laser beam stuck home on his right arm, the Phoenix Hawk pilot had taken the bait, chasing after his slower opponent. Mark kicked his jump jets, propelling him into the cover of a wood. Sensing victory the Phoenix Hawk followed only to run straight into Steven's line of fire. A burst of autocannon shells took off its left arm while laser fire burned its chest armour. The pilot fired his jump jets in a vain attempt to escape, but bracketed between Mark and Steven's mechs he stood no chance, a final shotgun blast from Mark's LBX found a gap in its weakened armour protection, knocking out its engine.

"Thanks for the assist, cover me for a minute."

"Got it boss." Steven was the company sergeant major and by rights should be addressed more formally, but the medium company paid little attention to rank or procedure.

Mark faded into the tree line as Steven recommenced his long range duel with a circling Hussar. Keeping one eye on the progress of his company, Mark scanned his computer's map of the area, mostly flat with numerous wood blocks, looking for an area to regroup. Glazer's Farm he decided, sheltered between wood blocks it would force any attackers into short range, which would give Mark's mediums the advantage over their lighter foes.

"All Mike call signs, this is Mike Alpha Actual, break off and regroup at farm Grid 0345 4721."

A chorus of rogers came back across the radio but even as Mark started towards the farm he could see the plan unravelling. John and Neil had made a break directly for the farm, but in doing so had left their opponents free to focus on Alan and Maya who's slower fighting retreat had left them isolated and facing most of the remaining enemy mechs. Hannah and Harald had got bogged down duelling with an Assassin, while at the extreme right of the line Candace and Frank were once again heading in the wrong direction, focusing on hunting down a lone Owens that had crossed their path as they fell back.

Mark felt his frustration rise, worse he knew he was responsible for the disorder. When Mark had joined the then demi company it had been a basket case, poorly trained pilots with worse morale acting as little more than glorified auxiliaries to the heavy company. Since then he had worked hard to instil a sense of pride, of self-belief, of brotherhood. The turnabout had been remarkable and as individual pilots his company were unrecognisable, but in doing so he had neglected training for company or even lance level engagements, now they were playing for that lack of preparation.

He took a deep breath. One problem at a time, he thought, Candace and Frank can hold their own for a bit longer, focus on those who can't.

"John take Neil, move 500m South East East, cover Hannah and Harald's withdraw then retreat with them to the farm."

"On it Boss!"

"Alan, Maya, hold your position I'm coming for you, Steven follow me."

Mark kicked his jump jets, clearing the woodblock, firing a wild blast at the Hussar as he did so. He missed but it made the Hussar's pilot duck into cover. Steven's Enforcer broke cover to follow him, their target, a pair of WOB mechs cutting off Alan and Maya's retreat, a Jenner and Night Hawk.

"I'll take the Night Hawk, you take the Jenner." Mark radioed Steven. "We just need to get their attention."

"Just love playing bait Boss you know that." Steven joked, he had taken up position just behind Mark, his Large Laser arm sweeping across likely firing points, searching for the Hussar. "Let's do this."

Preoccupied with sniping at Alan's Trebuchet, the Night Hawk pilot didn't notice Mark bearing down upon him until it was too late. Autocannon and laser fire raked the light mech as Mark lashed out with his foot, crushing armour plating on the Night Hawk's left leg. Its pilot reacted quickly, breaking at full speed for his own lines, Mark's slower Enfield in close pursuit.

Steven blew past the combat, angling for the Jenner that was making a bee line for Maya's Dervish. He wasn't going to make it he knew, his opponent was too fast and already at her rear while she exchanged fire with a Panther. Maya picked her moment perfectly, just as the Jenner entered effective firing range she activated her jump jets throwing her mech backwards. Laser fire and SRMs shot past her as did the charging Jenner, moving too quickly to adjust for her movement. With a triumphant grin she opened fire, the Jenner dodged to the right, avoided the worse of it, but the impact of a flight of SRMs made its pilot think better of a second pass.

"Your late Steven…again." She mockingly chilled him as she locked onto the Panther for another volley of LRMs. "Alan fall back, I'll cover."

Steven laughed to himself, your car breaks down once on the way to one mess function and no one will ever let you live it down. He added his laser fire to Maya's covering fire as Alan fell back to their position. "Time to go people. Boss we're on our way to the farm."

"Roger." Mark replied as he broke off pursuit of the Night Hawk, disappoint to have not been able to add it to his kill tally. Glancing at the tactical display he was glad to see the withdraw starting to take shape. John's group had successfully disengaged and was already most of the way to the farm. His own group would be there shortly and had easily enough firepower to keep their opponents at bay. Once Candace and Frank came in they would be able to redeploy as ordered.

"Mech down, Mech down." Candace's voice cut through his sense of growing calm. "Frank's down, he's unconscious. Three plus enemy mechs closing on our position."

"Roger on our way." Mark shouted his response without thinking as he wrenched his mech round. A quiet voice in the back of his head made him pause. 'I'm making the same mistake I always do. What is the mission?'

A glance at the tactical display confirmed his thoughts, the withdraw had fell apart again as every mech in the company headed straight for Frank's fallen mech. "Belay that! Hannah, Harrold you are to proceed to the heavy company's right flank then make contact with friendly forces operating on that flank. Ask Major Evington for details. John, Neil, cover them."

"But Boss." Neil protested.

"No time, we've got this, get going."

"Will do." Neil didn't sound happy but neither did he argue further.

Mark checked the display, glad to see his orders being obeyed as he pushed his mech to its maximum speed towards Frank and Candace's position. "Everyone else, follow me!"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

When he was in one of his more sombre moods, Colonel Samuel Gibson would characterise his 56 year military career by a series of loses, his wife, his son, most of his closest friends, numerous battles. But never an entire command, not in a single day and today, he told himself grimly, was not going to be the day that that changed. Keeping his Timberwolf at full flank speed, he swung her ER PPCs to the right and let off a blast at the Ostscout that was tailing him. The range was hopelessly optimistic and he wasn't surprised when the blasts went wide, but it served to keep the scout Level II at a respectful distance.

Earlier this morning he had been at the COs conference at the Marksan Army HQ, they had been thrashing out the final details of tomorrows assault on the 9th Divisions positions, it was to be their moment, the moment they showed the rest of the AFFS how the militias did business. Then the sky had turned to fire as artillery and bombs rained down to cover the dropship borne head hunter assault on the HQ and the dream had turned to dust. Gibson and his adjunct had made it to their mechs, but almost no one else had. The ground defence lance had quickly been overrun and as far as Gibson was aware almost none of the senior officers had escaped, certainly Lieutenant General Raymond, the Marksan Army CO, had perished trying to organise the resistance of his staff. That Gibson had claimed two kills in the melee did not make him feel any better, in the long run those 'victories' would be meaningless. With all the senior officers dead and the communications array put out of commission there was no longer anyway to centrally control the battle. Battle, that might be the wrong word. From what little radio traffic was making it through the jamming it appeared that all forward units had been either overrun or cut off by the WOB blitzkrieg while the reserve formations were nowhere to be seen. This was no longer a battle, it was a rout, the Marksan Army was defeated and all that was left to do was find his troops and extract them from the chaos, somehow.

His PPCs recharged he let off another extreme range shot. The enemy scouts were tailing him from a discrete distance, none of their mechs were powerful enough to willingly tangle with a Timberwolf, especially not the one painted pitch black. He had fought WOB long enough for them to know who he was and they had a wary respect for 'Midnight' and her pilot. They wouldn't directly confront him, rather they would cage him and deal with him in their own time. Gibson was tempted to turn about and turn the tables on then, but Midnight's armour was scorched and scored by weapons fire from the earlier engagement and he knew from bitter experience that even the most powerful mech could be laid low if certain actuators were crippled. He couldn't afford to get embroiled in meaningless fights right now, he had a job to do. An explosion to his left caught his eye, a Gurkha had got a little too close and bursts of fire from his companion's large pulse lasers had laid it low.

"Great shot Nick!"

Harry Shadowsword smiled at his COs mistake. Nicholas 'Nick' Shadowsword had been Harry's father, but he had also been Gibson's protégé and close friend until his death in 3068 fighting the Capellans on Tall Trees. It was Nick's Timberwolf that Harry now piloted, taken from Clan Smoke Jaguar during Operation Bulldog, it was painted in the tradition Logandale green and brown disruptive pattern rather than the all black livery of the Gibson family.

"Sorry Harry." Gibson sounded sheepish, he regularly made that mistake when his blood was up, almost seeming to forget which particular war he was fighting.

"No problem, Sir." Harry replied, he didn't take offense, his father had been a local hero and while he aimed to eventually surpass his father's achievements, he knew that people intended it as a compliment when they told him how much he reminded them of his father. "We've passed the last emergency rendezvous point, if they aren't here where are they?"

That was the question Gibson had been trying to solve for the last ten minutes as it became increasingly clear that the leading edge of the WOB advance had overrun the Fed Sun rear area and that the expected counter strike by the Wroxeter Guards had failed to materialise. Currently Gibson and Harry were caught up in amongst the leading wave of the WOB attack, surrounded by the light mechs searching for targets for the main body. That main body already sat astride the Irregulars' axis of retreat.

"As they are not here and there is no evidence they have been, I have to assume they have been cut off and retreating away from the main body. That means they are still on the far left of the line and if we can skirt round the main body sooner or later we'll meet up with them."

Gibson left out the unspoken assumption that the Irregulars were still alive and fighting. Other people seemed to be, there were enough explosions to his right to suggest that at least parts of other units were still offering resistance, regardless of how hopeless.

"Fighting to our front Sir, insignia's Avawatz Jagers."

Ahead of them a scratch demi company of mechs and armour was mounting a valiant defence around a group of light transports, a Level II was pushing them hard, mounting vicious slashing attacks of the embattled convoy.

"Shall we give them a hand."

Gibson thought about it for a second. "No, we haven't the time and they will slow us down."

"We can't just leave them Sir!" Even over the radio Gibson could hear the hurt and outrage in Harry's voice. Harry was still very much an idealist, a believer in mechwarriors as modern day knights and all the baggage that came with it. Gibson had had most of that nonsense knocked out of him over the years. Leaving the Jagers to their fate left a nasty taste in his mouth, but going to their rescue meant abandoning the attempt to reach his own men. War required ruthless decisions and Gibson knew the cost of letting emotions get in the way of making those decisions.

"Sir!" Harry protested again.

Even as Gibson justified the decision to himself, he could feel his resolve slipping as he watched the Jagers' fight for their lives. Their heaviest remaining mech, a Whitworth, stumble under sustained fire yet bravely keep its feet. A pair of escorting Bulldog tanks rallied round it, turrets pointing in opposite directions as they tried to maintain an all-round defence. Weapons fire impacted their hulls, scoring great gouges in their armour yet they kept on firing. In Gibson's mind, some people simply deserved to be rescued.

"Fuck it." Gibson swore loudly, angry at himself for wavering and angry at the world in general for putting him in this position. "Follow me, track my targets."

"Yes Sir!" Harry's heart soared, delighted in his CO's change of heart.

Smoothly Gibson brought Midnight round with Harry following hard on his left flank. The level II's fire support, an Osprey, saw them coming and turned to engage. A supersonic gauss rifle shot cracked through the air, passing just to Gibson's right. Harry and Gibson returned fire, their combined weaponry punching holes in the medium mechs armour. Smoking it tried to retreat, but too slowly as a second volley ripped off its right arm.

The rest of the level II began to react to the newcomers. A Blue Flame lumbered back towards the stricken Osprey, a Malik and Mongoose broke for cover while a pair of Buccaneers pressed the assault on the Jagers. ER Large Laser fire from the Blue Flame impacted Gibson's right flank but he ignored it as he closed on the Osprey. Two more ER PPC blasts staggered his enemy, but didn't fell him. Gibson switched to his SSRM6 racks as another Gauss Rifle shot flew past him, far too close for comfort. He held his aim until he got the solid tone that signified a lock on, twelve missiles leapt from his mechs shoulder racks, their impacts spread out over the Osprey, several found holes in the mechs ripped and scoured armour, the pilot ejecting as internal fires raged through the mech.

"Switch target, Blue Flame, go left."

Harry knew what Gibson wanted, as Gibson went right the Blue Flame would have turn to keep him in arc, expose its rear to Harry's guns. The Blue Flame's pilot knew it to and started to back up, but he'd gone too far from his own support. Lacking arm weaponry, the quad mech couldn't keep both Timberwolves in its front quarter at the same time and in choosing to continue engaging Gibson, died to repeated pulse laser blasts to the rear from Harry's guns.

Gibson knew he now faced a choice. Ideally he would want both Timberwolves to engage the Buccaneers, but the two WOB light mechs would soon reappear at his rear. Individually they posed little threat, but if left in his rear he would likely suffer the same fate as the Blue Flame. Yet if he split his force he wasn't sure he could take both Buccaneers alone. Shaky contacts began to appear behind him on his sensor screen confirming his suspicions, he made his choice.

"Harry engage the light mechs, I'm going for the mediums."

"Roger."

Gibson glanced up at his HUB as the Timberwolves separated. His armour was in a bad way, several sections showed red, nearly depleted. 'This is stupid' he thought to himself, 'absolutely stupid.' He could feel his anger rising as he singled out the nearest of the enemy mechs. They were mounting alternating slashing attacks on the Whitworth, now the only Jager mech left standing. Gibson waited until his target slowed to turn and then fired. One PPC bolt went wide the other impacting the Buccaneers right arm. Warning sirens went off in Gibson's cockpit at the Buccaneer's return fire stripped the last of the armour off Midnight's left arm, seizing the shoulder joint.

"Come on then you bastard." Gibson shouted to himself as the range between the combatants closed. Another PPC bolt along with a flight of SSRMs impacted the Buccaneer, but failed to score telling damage. Laser fire and a half dozen SRMs flew the other way, blasting off more armour, the temperature in Midnight's cockpit spiked noticeably as a pair of heat sinks were put out of action by penetrating shots. Gibson didn't notice, focusing entirely on his enemy, he closed to point blank range, firing his last volley of missiles as he did so. Weathering the storm, the Buccaneer came on, swinging its hatchet, smashing the Timberwolf's right shoulder missile rack. Snarling with rage, Gibson lashed out with his mech's leg, the contact staggered the Buccaneer, but it soon recovered raising its hatchet for another strike. Pressing on regardless, Gibson lashed out again, this time the knee joint buckled and the Buccaneer fell to the ground. Without a second's pause, Gibson stepped forward and brought his other foot down on his fallen opponent's cockpit, crushing it underfoot.

The remaining Buccaneer turned to face Gibson and hesitated. Midnight's armour was almost entirely depleted, out of ammo, with critical internal damage. But the Buccaneer's pilot didn't know that, all he saw was a fiery avatar of death, crouched over the remains of his dead comrade, glaring at him as its next victim. In that moment his nerve broke, turning his mech, he ran as fast as he could to get away. But, in his haste he forgot the Whitworth he had been engaging. Seconds late the Buccaneer crashed to the earth, victim of a catastrophic ammunition explosion as the Whitworth's LRMs penetrated its weak rear armour.

Breathing deeply to calm himself Gibson took stock. Harry's opponents had broken off and would not likely be back any time soon. His mech was seriously damaged, but not crippled while only the Whitworth, two Bulldog Medium Tanks, a Pegasus Hover Tank remained of the Jager's combat units. The scout level II that had been circling him was still there, but they were showing no interest of closing to engage.

"This is Colonel Gibson, Logandale Irregulars. Who's in charge here?"

"I think I am Sir. I'm Lieutenant Falken, Avawatz Jagers." The Whitworth pilot responded. "Thank you for the save, thought we were done for."

We might well still be. Gibson kept that thought to himself, the junior officer didn't need to hear that right now. "No problem." He was about to continue when he noticed the Pegasus.

"Do you have communications with the fleet."

"Yes Sir, Ikari's Raiders are trying to set up an extraction LZ. We're heading there now, so are some other units."

Gibson knew Commodore Ikari from old, a fellow veteran of Operation Bulldog, she had a flare for the dramatic. But more important than that, where you found Ikari you inevitably found the Vengeance class dropship 'Furious' and her compliment of aerospace fighters. A plan started to form in his mind's eye.

"Has anyone taken command of the evac?"

"Not that I'm aware of, we haven't made contact with any formation bigger that a company." Falken replied.

"Right, I'm taking command." Gibson didn't bother waiting for the Lieutenant's consent, he simply assumed he had it. "Patch me into your comms net, callsign Rider Leader." He smiled to himself.

"I have a plan."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

'Think small thoughts, think small thoughts.' It wasn't much of a mantra but it made Sgt Hannah Wright feel better as her Hermes hunkered down inside the wood block. Her heart hammered in her chest as she watched the vibration gauge steadily rise as the WOB patrol grew closer. Mechs are not by their nature particularly stealthy, typically a scout like herself would rely upon speed as much as anything to keep her safe. Problem was neither her Hermes nor her wingman's Cicada were particularly fast by modern standards.

The vibrations stopped suddenly, Hannah couldn't see the enemy mechs, but she knew they had to have paused right outside the wood. Her mind raced, 'have they seen us', 'what do we do if they have?' She held her breath for what seemed an eternity before her sensors picked up vibrations again. The patrol, apparently satisfied that the wood was clear, was moving off.

"What now boss?" Sgt Harald Robinson used the laser link to communicate, radio would risk giving away their position.

"Give it a few more minutes, let them clear the area." Strictly speaking Hannah was not Harald's boss, they were of equal rank and besides their actual 'boss', Captain Mark Warrington, actively discouraged slavish adherence to rank and protocol, especial in the field. But Hannah had been with the Irregulars from the start and was piloted her family's mech while Harald had been with the unit a couple of months and his mech had been salvaged from a scrapheap on Mira. Hannah had somewhat taken him under her wing and for his part he was mostly happy to follow her lead. She counted the seconds in her head, estimating how long it would take the patrol to clear the area.

"Ok follow me." Slowly easing her Hermes upright she pushed out towards the edge of the woods. Sensors showed clear, but that didn't mean much, the terrain here was broken by steep hills and thick wood blocks that could easily hide a mech. "Here we go then." Pushing the throttle fully forwards, Hannah broke into the open fast, Harald right behind her. Earlier there had been four of them, but John and Neil had broken off to dummy a WOB lance away from them, opening up a route for the lighter mechs to slip through and continue their mission to make contact with the main body. Hannah was beginning to wonder if that main body still existed, they had already travelled 31km and were getting nothing but jamming on the radio, nor had they seen any evidence of friendly troops.

The two light mechs slipped round behind a hill and made another fast break across the open ground between it and the next wood block. Hannah decided they'd give it another 9km to make an even 40, then they would return to the rendezvous point Major Evington had specified. Any further than that and they would miss the rendezvous time and then they really would be lost.

"Another 20 minutes and we'll call it…. Christ break left!"

Hannah threw her mech to the side barely missing the WOB Osiris that had blundered out of the woods directly into her path. Caught completely by surprise, the enemy pilot failed to react at first, appear to stare in dumb shock as Hannah and Harald's mechs hurtled by him, then he turned in pursuit.

"I think he might have seen us." Harald joked across the laser line.

"Maybe." Hannah couldn't see his face but knew he would be sporting a massive grin, he lived for this sort of thing. "Hang a right." She ordered as she brought her mech round a flat topped hill, looking for any cover that would break line of sight. The Osiris was fast, but short ranged and they had a head start. However, it was also broadcasting their position and if Hannah's sensors were doing their job at least three other mechs had responded and were converging on their position, they needed to lose their tail and fast.

"Left side this one." Speed vs cover, the left side of the wood lacked cover, but the right side was poor going. Hopefully, the enemy would be deceived but she doubted it. Laser fire cut in front of her, cutting a swath through the trees as a Stiletto crested a hill to join the chase. Left, right, right again, Hannah picked routes on instinct, travelling far too fast to properly examine the map as she went. Time was running short as she searched franticly for a way to evade the pursuers. A flight of LRMs impacted Hannah's mech smashing the rear armour plating. Warning klaxons sounding in her ears she made a break for a tree line, only to stop dead as she found herself staring down the barrels of a trio of PPCs.

Hannah braced, knowing she was far too close to avoid the ambush, she waited for oblivion to wash over her, yet it never came. The world lit up as the lance of Schrek PPC Carriers opened fire on the pursing Stiletto, the impact annihilated the light mech, its armour never intended to withstand such firepower. The Osiris' pilot hesitated for a moment and then withdraw sharply.

Hannah manoeuvred her mech into the wood as she brought her breathing under control, genuinely surprised to be alive. Focusing on the tanks flank she recognised the emblem, the clenched fist of the Wroxeter Guards.

"Hey up, the Xters" She hailed them on the open frequency. "Sgt Wright, Logandale Irregulars, thanks for the assistance, we were sent to look for you."

"Captain Mathers, Guards, not a problem, it's what we do. Switch to channel 16."

Switching to Guard's radio frequency Hannah and Captain Mathers quickly swapped notes on their respective situations.

"Hang on a moment. This missing Colonel of yours, wouldn't happen to be a Gibson would he?" Mathers asked.

"That's right, you've seen him?"

"Seen him? He's the one organising the evacuation! Give me a minute and I'll patch you through to him, I imagine he'll want to talk to you."

The line went to static for a few moments before Colonel Gibson's voice came through, somewhat broken by the ever present jamming.

"Mike Charlie Three, good to hear from you, this is Rider Leader report situation."

15km away Gibson sat in his mechs cockpit as he grimly listened to Hannah's report. It was much as he had feared, the Irregulars were a good 15km further away that he'd estimated, well beyond the range of the reconnaissance flights Ikari's aerospace fighters had conducted earlier and well outside his time estimations for the evacuation flights.

"Ok Mike Charlie Three, I understand the situation, wait out."

Quickly he reviewed the situation. The evacuation was due to begin in 30 minutes, with the last dropship to depart the surface within the hour. The Irregulars were too far away to fight their way to him in time. Nor could he spare any troops to assist their break out. While he'd managed to merged most of the scattered bands of fugitives into a number of battalion sized battle groups, he knew that they were really paper tigers, too badly cut up to retain much actual fighting power. He had formed two flying columns from the least damaged mechs, but Harry's was already heavily engaged to the north and he'd just dispatched the other to parry a WOB thrust in the west. Neither would be available in time. His HQ group was currently unengaged, hidden a mere 5km from the evacuation point as technicians made frantic repairs to their crippled mechs and tanks but as it stood, none were in a fit state to fight, nor would they be anytime soon. The Irregulars would have to fend for themselves and he'd have to beg Ikari for another dropship at a different LZ.

"Ok Mike Charlie Three, I need you to carry a message back to Harry Actual. I'm sending you some coordinates, a dropship will land there at 1740. That's the only window we've got, make sure your all there. Understood"

"Understood Sir." Hannah replied. "On my way."

"Good luck Sgt, see you on the other side. Rider Leader, out."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Paul brought his Devastator to a halt with only one major question on his mind. He kept it internalised as he scanned the sweeping valley before him, analysis the situation and double checking his coordinates. Shaffer vocalise that question and probably the feelings of the rest of the brigade.

"Where's the bloody dropship!"

It was a fair question, they were in the right spot, at the right time, but their ride wasn't, all the more distressing because that had been there only realistic chance of getting off world.

"It'll be here." Paul responded, glad that Shaffer had stuck to a private channel, if he was on edge the rest would be a lot worse and right now they would need the reassurance of feeling that the command team had this all under control. All the more important because Paul wasn't sure he did. He switched frequencies so he could address the whole formation.

"All callsigns this is Mike Actual." He paused to ensure he had everyone's attention. "As you may have noticed our ride is not here. It will be shortly; in the meantime, we're holding this position to ensure they have a safe LZ to land at. Individual tasks will be detailed soon. Keep your heads up, do yourselves proud, no one do anything stupid."

Switching frequencies, he rapidly fired off orders to his subcommanders. Shaffer was to reorganise the heavy company into a battle ready forward section under Lt Harrison and a reserve formation made up of those mechs that could no longer be expected to stand in the line under Lt Tzu. Mark was to do the same with the medium company and then take his forward section to support the rear guard currently manned by the Black Dogs. Captain Chen of the support group was to start reloading those mechs of the reserve group that could still fight if they had ammo to do so, there wouldn't be time for fitting replacement armour. That left the Black Dogs.

"Bravo Delta Leader this is Mike Actual, what's your situation?"

"I think we've seen better days, but we're holding." Colonel Mary Hopkins replied after a short delay. Paul could clearly hear the sounds of weapons fire and explosions over the radio, the fighting was obvious not far from her command post. "Nice speech by the way, really brought a tear to my eye."

Paul ignored the comment, Mary liked to try and wind mechwarriors up, it was almost her hobby. "I'm rearming my mechs, how long can you buy us?"

"As it stands, probably 15 minutes before my casualties start to become untenable. I can give you 25, but loses will be very heavy." Mary replied.

Paul took a moment to consider it, he needed time to reload, but every round loaded now cost lives of the infantry screening his mechs. Normally this wouldn't be his call, Mary outranked him, but long standing militia tradition gave mech officers seniority over officers in their supporting formation so she would expect him to decide.

"Give me 20 and I can get most of my mechs back in the field. Call it sooner if you need to."

"We'll do our part, see you on the other side. Out."

Paul watched as the area around his mech became a hive of activity. Lacking heavy equipment, technicians were unloading individual rounds from their transports and manhandling them to waiting mechs. It was hard and dangerous work, but no other option presented itself. Just beyond their perimeter the reserve battalion of the Black Dogs were digging positions to allow for all round defence of the LZ. It was these positions that whatever was left of the two forward battalions would occupy when the rear guard withdrew. Mark's forward section was already in motion, splitting in two to cover the rear guard's flanks and maybe draw some fire away from them. Seconds ticked by and the pressure on the rear guard steadily mounted. A steady stream of casualties was being ferried back to what passed for the field hospital, little more than a series of canvas tents utterly exposed to enemy fire. Incredible a smaller stream was limping the other way, walking wounded making their way back to man the perimeter. Paul resisted the temptation to go forwards, to personal supervise the fight, that was Mary's job and she was doing fine. He should be figuring out his next move, but he kept coming to the same conclusion. He was gambling the entire unit's existence on the arrival of a dropship, if the navy didn't pull through the Irregulars would cease to exist within the hour. Until then all that was left to do was to resist, to the last round if that was what it took.

"Mike Actual, this is Bravo Delta Leader, we are withdrawing." Paul could hear the strain in Mary's voice. She had held on till the last minute and it had cost the Black Dogs dearly, the number of APCs emerging from the woods, transporting the survivors to the dubious safety of the perimeter, was but a fraction of those that had carried them into battle.

"Roger." Paul acknowledged the report but was already switching to the battalion frequency.

"This is it Irregulars, remember the eyes of your forefathers are upon you, do them proud. Mike Alpha Actual, rally behind the heavies, all Harry callsigns, advance!"

Split into two lines the heavy company advanced, their armour was scorched and rent by weapons fire, but the techs had used the time the Black Dogs had brought them wisely, every mech carried at least a partial load of ammunition. Paul settled his crosshairs on the first enemy mech, a Starslayer chasing down a Black Dog APC.

"Watch my targets."

Paul squeezed the trigger and the enemy mech rocked back on its heels as gauss rounds and PPC fire impact its chest. It hesitated and then disappeared in a blaze of explosions as the rest of the company opened fire on it. The mech collapsed in a heap as its pilot ejected to safety. Dispassionately Paul switched targets, a Warhammer this time, he ignored the return fire as the range shrank waiting for the crosshairs to line up before firing again. Klaxons sounded as a flight of LRMs impacted his right flank, he shrugged it off as he continued to fire upon his opponent until, its right leg crippled, it fell to the earth, out of action. By now the opposing companies had become intermingled, all order falling away as each individual mechwarrior tried to survive in the melee. With Shaffer covering his flank, Paul picked out an Awesome as his opponent, matching PPCs against Gauss Rifles, swapping volley for volley. He risked a glance at the tac screen. Lt Harrison was doing sterling work keeping her section together while Lt Tzu had kept the reserves in a position where they could fire in support. But, it wasn't going to be enough, a second enemy company was closing fast and would certainly overwhelm them.

"Mike Alpha Actual, close order attack, my right flank."

It wasn't an order Harry relished, his troops were trained and equipped to fight as skirmishers not assault troops. But it had to be done and he knew only one way to make the order stick.

"All Mike callsigns. One last push, one last charge, into their right flank. Follow me!"

He kicked his battle scarred Enfield forward, ignoring the warning that he was pushing the damaged gyro to its limit, he didn't look back, he knew his troops would be following. Mark picked a newly arrived Griffin as his target, holding his fire till the last moment, he let off a point blank volley as he kicked out, knocking his enemy off his feet. Mark was vaguely away of the rest of his company rushing in behind him to finish the Griffin off, but he had already swept by, lost in the swirling melee. A Thunderbolt came into view and he gave it both barrels, taking a handful of laser blasts in return before again the tide swept the Thunderbolt from sight and he found himself in a melee with a Hatchetman. His Enfield rocked back on as the Hatchetman's autocannon connected, the last of Mark's torso armour falling clear.

"Come on then you bastard!" Mark shouted as he returned fire. He tried to open the range but trapped in the melee had nowhere to go. The Hatchetman rushed forwards, hatchet raised high. Instinctively Mark raised his right arm to block, the impact jarred his mech, throwing him about in his harness as the right arm autocannon's symbol went black on his HUD. Mark kicked out with his left leg as he returned fire with his large laser. The Hatchetman drew back for another blow, Mark tried to block but his enemy predicted it and the hatchet impacted into the side of Mark's Enfield's head.

There was blood in his eyes and he could taste more in his mouth. His ears rang like church bells and for a moment he was too stunned to react. The Hatchetman drew back his weapon in triumph, readying the final blow. Just as the hatchet started its downwards swing, Mark threw his mech forward under its reach. Swearing and cursing he attacked like a madman, kicking, punching, firing, doing whatever he could do to hurt his opponent. He ignored the steadily climbing heat scale, he ignored the weapons impacts and the mounting internal damage utterly focused on his opponent's defeat. Punching the ruined autocannon arm forward into the Hatchetman's torso he almost felt the armour give way, before both mechs were bathed in fire as the Hatchetman's ammunition exploded. As his enemy slide from his mech's outstretched arm Mark tried to take stock, numerous mechs were down on both sides, mostly the enemies but the Irregulars were being pushed back, most of their mechs reporting critical damage. A series of laser impacts brought him back to the battle, a Hunchback bore down on his position, lining up its massive autocannon for the killing shot. Mark tried to return fire, but none of his weapon systems were responding. He tensed his leg muscles, preparing for a last desperate dodge with his jump jets, when suddenly the Hunchback stumbled and fell forwards onto its face, a green and brown Timberwolf stood behind it, weapons smoking from a recent discharge.

Harry, Mark instinctively grasped, but how had he got there? Only now could he start to hear the radio over the ringing in his ears.

"It's the Warspite!"

Mark looked up and his heart soared. Every Logandale school boy knew of the Warspite, the broken down, second hand, fresh off the scrap heap Overlord dropship that had carried the Logandalers into battle again the Clans during the invasion. The dropship that had been shot up and crippled again and again, yet had always managed to pull through and get her charges out of trouble. Never once had she let her crew down and here the old lady was again, to once more pull the Logandalers out of the fire.

Aerospace fighters buzzed round the battle like angry wasps, engaging any targets that presented themselves as the Warspite settled down in the LZ, her own guns firing into the enemy ranks. The landing ramp came down and the black bulk of Midnight stalked down towards the enemy, firing as she went. Too badly damaged to hot drop beside Harry, she still represented a significant amount of mobile firepower.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we are leaving!" Gibson shouted over the all units' radio band. "Mechwarriors, cover, everyone else get on board now!"

It wasn't a dignified or orderly withdraw, but the sudden appearance of a dropship and her aerospace fighter escort had thrown the enemy into disorder and confusion. None the less it cost the Logandale mechwarriors dearly to hold the line for the few minutes needed to get everyone else on board. Slowly they collapsed the perimeter as the technicians and wounded were evacuated, then the medium company withdrew and the last of the Black Dogs dragged their support weapons onto transports before driving up the loading ramp at breakneck speed. At length only Gibson, Paul, Harry and Shaffer remained outside as the heavy company withdrew.

"We've got this Sir. Go." Paul radioed Gibson. Gibson made to protest but then remembering the perilous state of his armour turned and ran his mech up the ramp followed closely by Harry. Firing as they went, Paul and Shaffer walked backwards up the ramp, until they to were inside.

"We've in, go go go." Paul tried to contact the dropship captain, he didn't need to, the main engines were already firing up and the acceleration warning klaxon sounding before the ramp had finished closing. Covered by her escort the Warspite's great bulk lifted off from Caselton's surface for the relative safety of space.


	6. Epilogue

Epilogue

With only two companies of mechs aboard, the Warspite's third mechbay should have stood empty, instead it was filled with the cries of the wounded as the dropships overstretched medical teams did their best to help those they could and ease the passing of those they couldn't. Colonel Gibson walked the aisles, offering comfort and reassurance where he could, a sympathetic ear where it was needed. He was exhausted and old war wounds were beginning to get the better of him, but he carried on anyway, refusing to limp, refusing to reveal just how tired he felt. This was part of his duty and he would carry it out until he collapsed if that was what it took. He owed it to those who had given everything while under his command.

"Doing alright Colonel?" Colonel Mary Hopkins propped herself out of her cot bed, her blond hair matted with blood and a banding round her head covering her right eye.

Gibson nodded as he walked over. "Serious?"

"Bit of a scratch." Mary replied flippantly. "I'll need a new helmet though; this one's got a bit of a hole in it."

Gibson managed a bit of a laugh, far from having a bit of a hole, the helmet was damn near in two pieces, it had obviously saved her life. "How's Sarah?" Gibson was reasonable sure he hadn't seen Mary's granddaughter's name on the casualty lists.

"Fretting, had to order her to go get some sleep, she was going to worry me into an early grave if I let her." Mary half-heartedly laughed at her own joke. "But she's alive and in one piece, thanks." She eased herself back down. "Sorry my heads killing me, I'll let you get on."

Gibson nodded and turned to look across the hanger. 214 dead, 439 wounded, another 98 missing, nearly a 70% casualty rate. Not to mention 6 mechs destroyed, the remaining 27 seriously damaged and almost all their spares and heavy equipment lost in the retreat. The reports had made grim reading; he wasn't entirely sure how he was going to make good the damage before the next battle. More worryingly he wasn't sure how he could prevent a reoccurrence of today's casualties.

The intercom squeaked "Colonel Gibson to the Bridge."

Gibson walked over to a comm point. "Gibson here, on my way." Climbing through the hanger's access hatch he made his way to the ladder way that would take him to the centre of the ship. Ahead of him, beyond the ladder, the medium company had taken over an intersection. They were sat in a vague circle, each holding hands, heads bowed almost as if in prayer. Gibson wasn't entire sure what they were doing, but he knew it was part of their post battle ritual, a private remembrance of their dead. He wouldn't have disturbed them, except Mark had already seen him and stood up to intercept him, resentment plain on his face.

Gibson cut Mark off before he could speak. "Say what they like Captain." He said as he somewhat awkwardly clasped a hand on the younger man's shoulder, yet he met Mark's eyes with confidence and spoke with utter sincerity. "But you can fight." He nodded and then turned quickly and started to climb the ladder before the surprised officer could formulate a response.

Maya walked up behind Mark. "Even a broken clock is right twice a day I guess." She said with distain plain in her voice. Mark didn't respond, he merely frowned, lost in thought as he tried in vain to find the hidden insult.

The climb wasn't far and the gravity was back to a comfortable 1G, but Gibson's legs burned by the time he reached the bridge. Paul stood by top of the ladder, he knew better than to offer his arm to help his commander finish the climb.

"We've received a message from Commodore Ikari. Apparently you have to buy the beers at the next reunion." Paul decided to start with the good news.

Gibson forced a smile. "I assume there's more."

Paul and the dropship's captain swapped glances. The captain nodded and turned back to his charts.

"Intel says we're next Sir. The 9th's next target will be Logandale."

Gibson took a moment to let the information sink in. "Then Major, we have work to do."


End file.
